Cigarettes Make Fireflies
by Leeson
Summary: The embers from the tip of his cigarette float just like the fireflies. Lit one shot. Rating for language.


**Cigarettes Make Fireflies (1/1)  
The embers from the tip of his cigarette float just like the fireflies. Rory/Jess, Rory/Logan.  
I do not own the characters or universe depicted.**

She loves the late summer nights or, depending on your prerogative, the early summer morning. Fireflies float around the space over the garden, around the unlit pool. They draw nearer to the pool house, but never quite sharing its space before they retreat back to the safety of the crocuses and lilies.

Before she can think about the fireflies any further, he's standing on the other side of the glass with his hands shoved in his pockets and a shrug. She opens the door and steps out instead of allowing him in. The air is musty with new blooms and the decomposition of mulch and maybe firefly pheromones. "If fireflies emit pheromones," she thinks.

He talks, says something about the garden smelling like trash, and lights a cigarette. He looks upwards, at the too-few stars that Hartford's light pollution allows and says something else, this time a question.

Looking at him, she asks what he asked.

"Why are you living here?" he repeats.

He flicks some ash and ember off the cigarette and she watches it carry on the wind, reminding her of the fireflies. She ignores the difference in color.

"Who knows?" is her vague reply, but she thinks, "I fucked up."

He starts to say something else, but she cuts him off without apology. "Do fireflies emit pheromones?"

Shrugging, he drags on his cigarette. "Maybe." He's silent for a minute, turning the question over in his head and assuming it isn't as inane as he sees it. "Probably not these ones. I think that's what the lights are for."

A rabbit scurries along the edging, attempting not to be seen, with a stalk clutched firmly in its mouth. She mentally notes to tell the grounds keeper, when it starts to smell, that some rabbits were gnawing at the lilies.

"Why are you here?"

She hasn't seen him in eighteen months, not since she said no. Since, she's been through Dean and Logan and hasn't been able to make either of them stick.

He moves to flick the butt of his cigarette to the ground, but she pinches it between her fingers and kneels, rubbing it out in the dirt but holding steady to the butt.

He doesn't answer right away, like he's trying to formulate a good lie. "Got bored."

She doesn't believe him, but she lets it pass as he lights another cigarette. "You want to come inside? I've probably got something to drink."

"I'm good."

They stand, staring out at the pool and the few early leaves that have started to flutter down from the trees with an early yellow hue.

Deciding to voice her earlier thought, she clears her throat. "I fucked up."

"Shock," he replies with an almost sarcastic stoicism. "Bound to happen some day."

She shifts her feet, unconsciously moving closer to him. "I was hoping I'd be on my death bed."

"If it bothers you," he begins with an air of something that's almost wisdom, almost understanding, and nothing close to either. "Fix it."

There's a pregnant pause before she answers and the mosquitoes are starting to swarm around them. "What's to fix? Nothing broke. It just stopped."

He almost uses a metaphor, but she doesn't even know if she would realize it anymore. "If it stopped, it broke. Fix it and it'll start again."

"What're you really doing here? You wouldn't come just because you were bored."

She lets him drop the burnt down cigarette and stub it out with his toe. She makes a note to formulate a lie for her grandmother and drops the butt from between her fingers.

"Business."

There's a pang of something, probably jealousy, before she looks at him. "You? Business?"

"Some guys I know, we all started up this book store thing, Truncheon. We publish stuff. The original store is out of Philly, but we're looking at more property. We'll be in the red for awhile, but if it's growing that doesn't matter too much." He shrugs. "I'm looking around Connecticut. Matt's out in Jersey and Chris is in New York."

"That's good, doing something with your life."

He shrugs again. "You and Luke always said it was possible. Just took me awhile to get it."

She thinks about it, turning it over in her head and trying to feel the words on her tongue before she allows them. "What's that mean for you?"

"Hiring people to work the store, if we open it. Bi-monthly visits."

"Oh."

"You start school back up soon, don't you?"

She looks down, feeling grossly inadequate. "Actually, I'm not in school anymore."

He raises an eyebrow and looks at her for the first time since his arrival. "When'd you get stupid?"

"Hey!" she exclaims, returning his look with a venomous one.

"Oh, c'mon Rory. You dropped out of Yale? How'd you rationalize that?"

She doesn't answer, just stares out over the water.

He asks again.

"What do you want to hear?" she bites. "I can't do it. I went out into the real world, I tried to be an adult, and I couldn't do it. I sucked at it!"

He gazes just over her shoulder questioningly, avoiding looking straight into her eyes.

She looks down in return. "People who have been doing what I want to do...they seem to know that I can't do it. That I'd make a really good assistant, but I can't take charge well-enough to do what I always wanted." She pauses. "And I stole a boat."

"Have you been lobotomized?"

She starts talking again, but he cuts her off.

"You gave it all up because of some assholes opinion and a…is that a felony?"

She nods.

"An asshole and a felony. You're an idiot."

She yells, "It wasn't just any asshole!"

He gives her a challenging look.

"Mitchum Huntzberger."

It actually makes him pause. "How the hell did you manage to get an in with the head of Huntz Corp?"

She waves it off. "I was seeing his son."

"Ever thought that, maybe, he didn't like you dating his son?"

"Knew it, thanks," she replies snidely. "We broke-up before my performance review. It wasn't that. He just knew I didn't have it."

"So."

"So?" She scoffs. "He's a newspaper big wig. If anyone would know if I have it, it would be him."

Jess shrugs at her. "So? One guy told you that you weren't right. What does everyone else say? Did this guy even see your writing?"

"Will you just leave it alone? It was all part of a string events that you set off last time you decided to pop up." Regret.

"Don't blame me because you fucked up. I was stupid, that doesn't mean I made you stupid. You did that all by yourself." He lights another cigarette.

"The lung cancer, on the other hand, will be your fault."

He rolls his eyes, pocketing the nearly empty Marlboro box. "Misdirection is an impressive tactic, Gilmore, but it won't work. Why are you being so stupid?"

"Why are you so damn infuriating?" she returns.

"Why are you avoiding the truth?"

"Why won't you let me?"

What he says next confuses her until she realizes it's true. "Why are you crying?"

"Wanna know something sad?" She wipes at her eyes and realizes he thought the question was rhetorical. So, she answers. "My life would probably make more sense if I'd said yes."

"If you'd said yes," he insights. "We'd both be disgustingly unhappy. And you'd have to put up with Matt, too. No one deserves that."

She thinks about it before she replies, but the question seems stupid even in her head. "So you're happy?"

"I'm not unhappy," is the only reply he'll give her.

"At least you got there."

He's quiet for a minute before he throws down his cigarette and drags her into the pool house by the hand.

"What are you doing?"

He pulls her through the open bedroom door. "You have a suitcase?"

She stares at him, partially horrified.

"Okay." He stands for a moment, thinking, before opening the closet to find luggage on the floor of it. He tosses it on the bed and opens it all, starting to throw the clothes from her closet in.

He moves onto the dresser, Rory still standing dumbfounded. "I think I'll let you get that drawer," he states, closing the top drawer quickly after opening it.

She's still standing there when he's done with the dresser.

"You might want to get anything else you'll need."

She looks at him, her stupor broken. "What the hell are you doing?"

He rolls his eyes, as if it were obvious. "Making you happy. Now, c'mon, I don't want to deal with your grandmother and I doubt she sleeps in."

She looks at the clock. It's almost six. Without thinking, she goes on autopilot. She empties her top dresser drawer into a suitcase and everything from her nightstand drawers. She disappears for a moment before returning with a bag of toiletries. "What am I doing?" she asks as she shoves it in one of the suitcases. She starts to zip all of the suitcases, still unsure of why she is.

"You're being proactive."

She raises an eyebrow at him and grabs two of the suitcases. He grabs the other three and leads her out of the pool house and around the grounds.

The fireflies are gone.

They shove all of her luggage and themselves into his car.

They're on the I-91 when she wakes up, in her bed and next to Logan. He's still sleeping, oblivious to the inner workings of her mind.

She grabs the phone on her way through the living room and sits next to the pool when she gets outside. There are no fireflies and it's two in the morning.

There's a sigh, deep in her throat, as she sets the phone down and leans back. Something pushes softly into her hand and she picks it up, inspects it.

The bottom of the word Marlboro is nearly burnt.

There are no embers falling from the tip.

There are no fireflies.

She picks up the phone again, dials and balances it between her ear and shoulder.

"Mom?"

**Reformatted and Edited:** 21 October, 2008


End file.
